


Breaking Tension

by DisasterJones (orphan_account)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety, Art, College, Comfort, Digital Art, Drawing, Fluff, M/M, Massage, Singing, Song Lyrics, Stress Relief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 15:42:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9498827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/DisasterJones
Summary: Ross is struggling and burnt out from this semester. But there's this beautiful singing boy he can't stop drawing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> lyrics from Bon Iver's "Skinny Love"

The cafeteria’s lounge is abuzz with chatter and bustling students, a collection raging at each other about finals, others lamenting their results, many celebrating with classmates about the blissful end of the semester. Everyone except for Ross, who has fallen into a general malaise – nestled into the cushions with his feet tucked against his butt, he’s bitterly holding onto a small sense of victory. It was normally unheard of, but he’d managed to claim the tiny blue couch shoved up against the windowed wall that overlooked the courtyard.  
It’s small enough he’s forced to balance his backpack against his knees, filled with sketchpads, supplies and his final all poking precariously through the top. The heat from the laptop resting against his thighs borders on unbearable, but that’s the last thing on his stress-addled mind.  
The brunt of his nails dig into his cheek and his elbow presses into the side of the couch as he huffs impatiently, flattening the CTRL and Z keys with increasing force, over and over and over until all the progress he’s made in the last hour disappears from his monitor. His face crinkles and he can feel the threat of tears poking at the corners of his eyes. Snipping the internal bud of emotion clean off, he slams his screen shut and tosses the laptop to the other side of the couch in frustration.

Then he hears it – the sweetest and best and his most favorite voice that he knows, maybe of all time.  
The soft lilt of a falsetto echoes through the room, barely making it over the mass of mixed emotions, but it reaches Ross’ ears nevertheless.

“ _Come on skinny love, just last the year._ ”

It sounds like angels sighing and stars shining, and it’s the only thing that distracts Ross from his anguish. He turns his head to find a beautiful lithe figure bouncing – _oh my god_ , he thinks to himself, _he’s skipping_ – in this direction, his eyes closed and a crown of fluff and curls cascading around him like an undulating halo of clouds.

“ _Pour a little salt, we were never here,_ ” he continues in that perfect voice, and Ross doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath until his lungs protest the lack of oxygen.

Even after half a year, he still hasn’t figured out who this guy is, but he shows up like clockwork every day around this time in the cafeteria, and he’s always singing. Ross never has the courage to talk to him, always electing to engross himself in his drawing, ignoring that he’s probably just using it as an excuse to avoid other people too.

But whenever the singing boy shows up, Ross’ projects suffer – no matter how hard he tries to focus on his work, he always winds up drawing that beautiful face instead. Mouth hanging open in a silent note, eyelashes splaying out against his cheek, with just the smallest hint of a shoulder or collarbone.

His disquiet abandoned, he grabs for his laptop again, throwing the screen open and settling his tablet against the keyboard, leaving just enough of it exposed for him to access the shortcuts he needs. He carefully scans the tall, angular form, noting the places the sharp planes curve into soft hollows and dainty swoops. He finds him fascinating to study, and even more entertaining to illustrate – he loves the way his body defies the common sense structure of his line weights, and the way his awkward flailing still looks graceful, the way colors seem to refract off him like glass, prismatic and celestial. He tries to ignore the implications of having a male for a muse, or what anyone might say about it – he just wants to keep drawing him forever.

Lost in thought and only passively absorbing the tune, Ross doesn’t hear the rustling of footsteps or seem to notice the growing vibrato behind him. His stylus continues to flick absently at the tablet, the familiar form of the singing boy coming to life on the screen stroke by stroke.  
  
“ _My my my, my my my, MY my my_ ,” a familiar voice croons in a lower pitch, but still unmistakably belonging to the singing boy, and it’s right next to Ross’ ear.

He can’t help but jump at the surprise, slowly rolling his head back until his upside-down gaze meets twinkling eyes surrounded by tufts of walnut brown. He forgets to breathe again. The singing boy becomes something more in his mind immediately – the smiling boy, the perfect boy, the boy he wants to stare at until he’s memorized every line in his face and can replicate it perfectly.

“You missed the scar in my eyebrow,” he offers helpfully, pointing to to the drawing.  
“I-I-I .. Um.. Uh…” Ross’s face flushes a deep puce and he tries to stutter out an apology, growing several shades darker when the towering angel begins to laugh.  
“Awwhaha, I’m sorry, please don’t be embarrassed!” He grins joyfully and put his hands to his own face, cheeks lightly peppered pink with a blush. “It’s flattering, I can’t believe someone would wanna draw me!”  
Ross can’t stop his knee-jerk reaction, indignant and scoffing loudly, “Are you KIDDING me? You-” He sighs with exasperation, pinching two fingers against the bridge of his nose, “That voice and that face and that body, like, you’re a fucking work of art, who wouldn’t want to draw you?”

As the moment of his disbelief passes, so too does the realization that he actually said all that out loud and NOT in his head like he thought. His expression morphs from indignation to horror and somehow he turns even redder than he had before.

“OhgodohgodimsorrythatwasprobablySUPERforwardimreallysorryohgod.” Ross babbles and buries his face in his hands, completely unaware of the kind and patient smile still hovering on the beautiful stranger’s lips.

Then, hands. On his back and rising up to his shoulders, settling into the curve of his neck.  
Fingers softly manipulating the tender and inflamed muscles beneath, working gently into the tiny stress knots that had sprouted along his upper back.  
Ross can’t help but melt beneath the foreign touch, ears still burning red, but his anxiety-wracked frame is crying for some peace and relaxation. He rolls his head about to stretch his neck, groaning with satisfaction when thumbs dip in between his shoulder blades and begin to work out the tension that had built in his spine.

“You know I thought about being a masseuse for a while,” the soft voice trills quietly behind him.  
“Yeah?” Ross isn’t sure how to offer more; he’s too busy trying not to drool, and it is becoming exceedingly difficult.  
“Yeah – turns out I just really like making people feel good, and I don’t need to spend money for that,” he finishes with a little laugh that makes Ross’s heart bounce. The delicate fingers give a final sympathetic squeeze before slipping from his frame.  
“Well, I should say your mission is, indeed, accomplished,” Ross lifts his arms above his head, stretching and smiling as a few pops roll through his frame, slouching forward and sighing contentedly.  
“It’s the least I could do – you seemed so worried and, well, I guess I thought that was the best way to tell you not to.”

Ross moves to turn in place and angle himself, but the beautiful boy leans down to meet him instead, craning to one side to get a good look at his face. Bashful blue eyes snap down to his lap before returning to the twinkling brown ones.

“What’s your name, cutie?”

He’s close enough Ross can feel his breath on his face, can smell his hair, and he’s radiating warmth like a summer evening. His heartbeat is in his throat, but he manages to swallow it down.

“Ross. Ross O'Donovan.”  
“Well, Ross O'Donovan, I’m Dan, and I’ll be your muse if you want.”  
“Wha-” A smile breaks out across Ross’ face that he can’t stop, but he’s too happy to think about that, “Really?”  
“Yeah buddy – anybody who makes my butt look that good, and looks this handsome, how can I resist?” Dan grins again, his eyes glinting and playful.

Ross blushes again – _what did I get myself into here?_

And then the sweetest peck meets his cheek, and he smiles wide – his worries and frustrations melt away, and angelic singing begins again.

**Author's Note:**

> entry for Polygrumps Secret Santa 2016, gifted to tumblr user @narwhalunicornhybrid  
> originally posted to my tumblr @DeeDeeDoozle


End file.
